


Over and Over (I Will Wait For You)

by Saral_Hylor



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Steve Feels, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the accident, there are things that Tony Stark doesn't remember. He forgets them over and over again. This is just another day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over and Over (I Will Wait For You)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at an amnesia fic. I have no background in medicine, so I have no idea how likely this kind of memory loss is. It's not meant to be a medical journal though, it's fanfiction.  
> That said, I do not own, or claim any right to these characters, or the events that took place in the movie. I'm just a sad little fangirl who likes writing stories.  
> Beta'ed by the delightful quandong_crumble.

4:01 am

Steve slipped out of bed. It was the same every morning; he untangled himself from around Tony, feeling his heart clench tightly in his chest as he brushed his fingers across the older man’s sleeping face, pressing a final kiss to his forehead before retreating towards the door. The soldier blinked the damp pain away from behind his eyes, giving the room one final scan to ensure that there wasn’t any sign of him left, lingering just for a moment, looking at the man on the bed, bathed in the blue light from the arc reactor.  
Dear god, he missed Tony.  
Squaring his shoulders, Steve backed out of the room, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. Retreating to his room he collapsed onto the cold bed, willing himself not to cry. Why did it keep getting harder to leave? He knew he couldn’t stay. He’d tried that a lot in the beginning, and it had led to either awkward days filled with Tony alternating between giving him weird looks, and teasing him relentlessly, or Tony freaking on him completely and hiding in his workshop for the rest of the day. He wasn’t sure he could go through that again.  
The framed photo on the bedside table caught Steve’s eye, as it did every day; the ache in his chest magnified, but he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the photo. Part of him desperately needed to remember the better times. No matter how much it hurt. Times before, when they were together, and Tony Stark woke up every morning remembering that.  
The photo had been taken by Clint, after Tony and Steve had returned from some charity function that Stark Industries had heavily backed. They’d both dressed up, it was a black tie event; the first they’d gone to as a couple. Steve was pretty sure he hadn’t stopped smiling, or blushing, all night. The photo was of the two of them, Tony had wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down to roughly the same height; the picture was slightly blurred, because at the last minute, Tony had turned his head and pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek. The quality of the picture didn’t faze the solider though; it was the memory, the moment captured in a still frame, that mattered.

 

8:39 am

JARVIS alerted Steve that Tony had woken up and was in the kitchen, just as the super soldier had finished his morning fitness routine in the gym. He thanked the AI, and made his way quickly up to the kitchen. Tony was slumped over a mug of coffee, as usual, his hair ruffled, eyes barely open. The urge to smooth that hair down and press a kiss to the back of the genius’ head caught Steve like a punch to the chest; a small noise escaped his throat before he could bite it back.  
Tony looked up at him, eyes blinking a few times. “Oh, hey Rogers.” He blinked a few more times, sipping his coffee before looking back up at Steve again. “You alright, Capsicle? You look a little off?”  
The names hurt far more than they should have. He had gotten used to being just Steve; it was first name basis, not last names, or whatever silly name Tony tried to stir him up with.  
He swallowed hard, moving towards the fridge. “I’m fine. You want some breakfast?” Fine was default; but how could he tell Tony he was anything but fine.  
Tony simply grunted in response, going back to slouched over his coffee, face so close it was a miracle he never burnt himself.  
So, Steve cooked breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon for both of them, it was always the same, but at least it was something he knew the older man would eat without complaining too much. He had to remind himself that it could be a lot worse; at least Tony remembered who they all were, he knew that he was Iron Man, and he knew that the Avengers lived in the tower with him. Tony hadn’t forgotten that far back. It had been two years since the Avengers formed and defeated the Chitauri, Tony Stark, however, could only remember the first year of that.  
They ate in silence, which was usual, as it was still far too early in the morning for Tony to feel like conversation. Steve just didn’t know what to say; there were so many things he wanted to tell the older man, things that he wanted him to remember, but he’d tried it before, and forcing Tony to remember never went well. So, he kept his words to himself. The desperate ‘I love you’ was the hardest to swallow back down.  
Tony sat through another coffee, coming more alive as the caffeine slowly made its way through his body. Steve could feel those brown eyes watching him, but he couldn’t look up at the man he loved, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from saying or doing something if he did.  
“Did I get drunk last night?”  
The question caught Steve off guard, he looked up from his eggs, unable to keep the surprise off his face.  
Tony stared at his coffee, brow farrowed. “I woke up this morning, and I feel like something was missing. Something important and I can’t figure out what it was.”  
His heart was jammed in his throat; the words he knew he couldn’t say were threatening to choke him. _‘Me, you’ve forgotten me. I’m what’s missing.’_ Steve swallowed them back down, feeling the pain prick behind his eyes again. He would not cry.  
“You haven’t been drunk in a while, Tony. But you know what they say, if you can’t remember it, it can’t have been that important in the first place.” The words felt like razors in his mouth, the pain of a simple sentence almost too much.  
His voice must have betrayed him, though he tried hard to keep it steady, Tony stared at him, and odd expression on his face, like he was trying to work out a particularly difficult problem.  
“Yeah, guess they say that.” The genius sighed, looking away again. He got to his feet, picked up his plate, walking towards the sink.  
Steve didn’t turn to watch him, but he could hear the shuffle of Tony’s feet on the tiles, the clink of the plate as he set it down on the sink. He closed his eyes and listened; Tony had turned around and was making his way back to the table, there was a pause, then Steve felt a touch to the back of his neck. Callused fingers dragged across his skin, just below his hairline, a familiar touch that he’d longed to feel again. He couldn’t supress the shiver that rolled through him, or the small hiccupping breath that caught in his throat. He missed this, the fleeting touches that reminded him that Tony actually cared.  
All too soon, the contact was gone, and Steve could only watch and Tony snatched up his coffee and fled to his workshop, never once looking back. The loss choked him, his throat closing up; it was so hard to breathe around the emptiness he felt inside. He wanted his Tony back. 

 

10:15 am

“Why do you keep torturing yourself with this?” Clint leant against the door frame of Steve’s room, arms folded across his chest, Natasha hovered a step behind him and to the right.  
Steve looked up from the sketch he was working on, yet another one of Tony, and gave the two assassins a sad smile. It wasn’t the first time they’d tried to stage an intervention; he knew that they meant well, probably knew what was best for him a lot better than he did. “I just can’t give up on him. None of us should, he’d never give up on us.”  
It had been hard for all of them, to see Tony relapse again and again, resetting every time he slept as though the previous 24 hours hadn’t happened. He was stuck, on a point in time, roughly a year before the accident. As far as they could tell, the only significant thing about that time, was that Tony Stark had been genuinely happy. Pepper had come back to being his friend after two months of not talking to him after they broke up. And Tony and Steve had finally stopped arguing every time they were in the same room. They’d become friends. Some things were easier to get through to him, Natasha emailed a mission briefing packet through to Tony every day, updating him on what the Avengers had done recently. Tony would read it, and then appear, confused, and one of them, usually Natasha, Bruce or Pepper would talk him through what happened. He’d always leave in a good mood, telling them not to let him forget again.  
The archer sighed, a small, sympathetic sound. “No one is giving up on him. But none of us are pining after him every day, and trying to win his affection over and over again.”  
“He might remember one day.” It was all Steve could think to say. He wanted it to be true, wanted to believe that one day Tony would wake up and remember what they had. Despite three months’ worth of proof that that wasn’t going to happen, he hadn’t been able to give up on that small hope yet. He could still feel the brush of Tony’s fingers on the back of his neck, surely that small action had to have meant something.  
Natasha moved into the room and sat one the bed, as close to the super soldier as she could get, leaning over and pressing her hand flat against his bicep. “And if he does, then you can come back, and things will be okay. But he hasn’t yet, Steve, there is no reason to keep hurting yourself because of it. No one will think less of you if you want to leave.”  
He knew what they were talking about. His apartment in Brooklyn was still there waiting for him. He could leave the tower and go back there whenever he wanted to. When it first happened, after several really bad days when Steve had tried to make Tony remember him, he’d packed his bag and almost made it out the door before the guilt set in. It became such a reoccurrence that in the end the bag was always packed and right by his bedroom door. The guilt always stopped him, the overwhelming sense that he couldn’t just abandon Tony.  
“I can’t leave him. I can’t lose him.” It was all he could manage to say, his eyes flickering over the bag. He really should have unpacked it and put everything away, so the temptation wasn’t there anymore. His throat choked up painfully, the all too familiar sting in his eyes. He couldn’t cry though, not in front of his friends.  
“You’ve already lost him!” Clint snapped, stomping his foot.  
Anger coiled inside him; Steve wanted to fly at him, to use all of his strength against him. For a moment he didn’t care the Clint was merely human, or that he was his friend. A deep shuddering breath wracked his body, the pencil in his hand snapped; the sound pulling him back to reality.  
The archer had backed up, out of the door way to the other side of the hallway, his hands up in a sign of surrender. “I’m sorry, Cap, I didn’t mean it.”  
The anger was squashed down by more guilt. Steve had no right to be angry. Clint knew loss better than any of them. He’d lost Coulson, and had struggled through that without anyone’s help.  
“No, it’s,” He can’t say it’s fine, because it really isn’t. “You lost Phil. You have every right to be upset.”  
“Yeah, but I lost him once.” Clint’s voice had lost all its power, just a sad murmur remained. “I got to say goodbye, and I mourned him. You keep losing Tony over and over again. It’s…”  
Natasha picked up on the line of conversation. “It’s not good for you, Captain. It’d be easier if you just let go and walked away. If he remembers, you can come back to him.”  
Steve pushed back away from his desk, standing up with such force that his chair flew backwards across the room. He felt both of the assassins brace themselves, preparing for defence, or offence, more likely. Making a point not to look at them, he picked up his sketchbook, closing it and picked up another pencil before turning and left the room. They didn’t question where he was going. It was the same every day. Tony was debriefed at 10 every morning, Bruce would have finished within ten minutes, and after that Steve would make his way to wherever the genius was, and would spend as much time around him as he could.  
Despite everything they said, they didn’t try to stop him. 

 

12:03 pm

He’d stalled, for an hour and a half. Tony hadn’t surfaced from his workshop, he rarely did, unless someone made him. Steve stood outside the workshop door for a while, sketchbook tucked under his arm, a plate of sandwiches in one hand, coffee in the other. It was a routine he’d started long before he and Tony had become a couple, so it was safe to appear in the workshop with food without it upsetting Tony in anyway.  
Taking a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, Steve didn’t even need to ask JARVIS to open the door, the AI knew the routine too.  
Tony looked up when he heard the door open, his eyes locking with Steve’s for a moment before he looked away. “Here on Stark feeding duty, I assume?”  
The resentful tone of the older man’s voice made Steve cringe; it had been over a week since Tony had been anything but friendly towards him. He tried to ignore it the best he could, the sharp stab that went through his heart. “Guess so.”  
It was all he could manage to say, instead deciding actions were better than words, crossing the workshop to put the sandwiches and coffee down in the small clear space he could amongst all the clutter of Tony’s work bench. He tried to smile when Tony looked at him again, but Steve was sure that it didn’t turn out right, given the confused look the genius gave him.  
The afternoon progressed as usual; Steve took up his spot on the couch, sketchbook propped on one knee, Tony acted as though he wasn’t there, though the sandwiches slowly disappeared. The super soldier stared blankly at his sketchbook, the white page glaring back at him; he didn’t know what to draw, every time he put pencil to paper it was always Tony that ended up on the page. That was getting too painful. Everything was getting too painful, maybe Clint and Natasha had a point, maybe it was time to just give up.  
He could still feel the touch on the back of his neck, the spark of hope it lit inside him, the press of Tony’s lips against his the previous night. The sound of Tony’s soft snores after he’d fallen asleep in Steve’s arms. It was too much to give up.  
“Hey, Cap?”  
The sound of Tony’s voice pulled Steve from his memories, his gaze flickered up to find Tony starting at him thoughtfully. He didn’t respond, just waited.  
“Bruce told me that things are missing. I’ve lost time. I get that. It’s okay though, no, it’s frustrating as all fuck, but they catch me up. I was never good at keeping track of time anyway, so no big deal right?” Tony looked away, the false bravado in his voice wavering. “I keep detailed reports of my projects, JARVIS documents it all, so I know where I’m up to, not that I even need it, I mean, a lot of my best work I don’t remember how I got there, you know, too much alcohol and not enough sleep. Guess you wouldn’t know, Mr Sober-Sides.”  
Tony was rambling, but Steve didn’t care, he let the sound of his voice wash through him. He wanted to close his eyes and soak it all up, because this was how it started. They’d talk and things would progress from there. He’d heard something similar to his ramble plenty of times before.  
“There is still something missing though.” Tony was still going, his hands back fidgeting with whatever he’d been working on. “Something important, I don’t know what it is, but it’s missing, and I haven’t made any records of it. Why haven’t I made records of it, Cap? If there is something important, you’d tell me, right?”  
It was the first time that he’d specifically asked Steve that. He couldn’t help the flutter of hope he felt; Tony recognising that something was missing had to be a good sign. He wanted to tell him everything, tell him about all they’d had and lost, but he couldn’t, it hurt too much, and that in turn upset Tony. He couldn’t let that happen.  
He stood up, setting his sketchbook aside, taking a few steps towards the older man, but keeping the workbench between them. It was never a good idea to crowd him. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out, Tony, you’re brilliant.”  
Tony snorted in disbelief, banging the heel of his hand against his temple, agitated. “If I’m so brilliant, why is my mind failing me? Dammit Rogers, don’t hold out on me. If there’s something, just tell me.”  
The pain in his chest was back, pulling tight at his lungs; it felt like asthma all over again. It wasn’t though; Steve knew that, it was just panic and heartache, it was just a similar sensation. Swallowing down the feeling the best he could, Steve forced a smile.  
“There’s nothing. You’re still the smartest person I know, have ever known.” He stressed the last point, because it was important that Tony knew that he thought he was the best of the two Starks he’d known. “We’ll get through this.”  
“We’ll?” Tony quirked an eyebrow, sounding both confused and sceptical. “Where did this we come from? Pretty sure we can hardly stand each other. Right?”  
Steve had slipped up, it was only going to spiral out of control from there, Tony would panic and it’d be another day wasted. The pain in his throat choked him, his eyes burnt, and for once, he couldn’t stop from crying. His vision blurred, then cleared slightly as the tears overflowed and tracked slowly down his cheeks. He couldn’t let Tony see him like this; he turned away and left. It felt so very much like he was running away, but this fight was hurting him on a completely different level, and super solider or not, he was sure that it’d be the fight that would kill him.  
“Cap? Rogers? What’s wrong? What’ve I missed?!” Tony called after him, but he didn’t move from where he stood at the workbench. “Steve?”  
The pitiful call of his first name made Steve pause just outside the door, but he didn’t stop JARVIS from letting it close behind him. His enhanced hearing picked up one last thing Tony said.  
“JARVIS, show me what I’ve missed.”

 

5:20 pm

It wasn’t fair, Steve knew that, but he found himself staring at the packed bag again, glaring holes into the side of it. Maybe Natasha and Clint had a point; he should leave, take some time away from the group, but not so far removed that he wouldn’t be there when they were called to assemble. He could take some time, and maybe he’d forget too. Forget the time before, when Tony was all his, and for the first time since he’d woken up from the ice, he felt like he truly belonged in this time. And then the accident happened, and it was all taken away from him. He still had Tony, but he didn’t have his Tony. Some days, he gained him back, for a few hours, and that had been enough to hold on to.  
He’d lost people he loved before; his mother, Doctor Erskine, Bucky, Peggy. He’d lost them, once, with no chance of ever getting them back. He should have been grateful that he still had Tony, and he was, there was no doubt about that; but Clint was right, he kept losing Tony over and over again.  
The point in time, when his world had shattered all over again, was still clear in his mind. He didn’t get to forget it like Tony did. Steve would always know, always remember, that it was his fault. He’d failed to protect the man he loved. Tony Stark was, after all, merely a man without the suit. A great, brilliant, caring man, wrapped in a layer of sarcasm and wit; but he was still a man. Steve should have protected him; he knew there was no way he could have prevented the car accident, it hadn’t been their fault, but he should have protected him.  
Because, if he kept failing to protect those he cared about, he might as well have stayed that scrawny little kid from Brooklyn.  
He could still remember the crunch and scream of metal on metal, the pain, and the blood. Oh god, the blood.  
They were all injured, Happy, Steve and Tony. Happy had come out with whiplash and major bruising. Steve’s right leg was broken in three places, and six of his ribs were fractured. Tony sustained a blow to the head and was in a coma for two weeks. By the time he woke up again, Steve was fully healed, and Tony had forgotten.  
Steve reached for the bag. He could just leave, and it wouldn’t hurt Tony, because he couldn’t remember what they had. Bag in his hand he stood, he had to do it. Had to at least try. If it didn’t work out, he could always come back and just pick up again at the beginning of a new day.  
He made it as far at the elevator, hand hovered over the call button but unable to press it. He knew that if he left, he’d never be able to undo that guilt. JARVIS must have taken pity on him, because the elevator doors slid open, and it was all too easy to step inside. It was further than he’d ever gotten before; the tears of pain, guilt and loss trickled down his cheeks and he let them, it was too hard to care if he was making a scene when his heart felt like it was breaking all over again.  
He closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing and tried to steady his racing heart; tricks he’d learnt as a child to calm himself down. Something bumped his foot; Steve opened his eyes slowly, wishing, not for the first time, that he could be waking from a nightmare and everything would be alright.  
His sketchbook rested against his foot, pages all skewwhiff, getting crumpled and damaged. Eyes snapped up to find Tony standing there; he looked wild, eyes wide, body posed for flight, as though he had every intention to turn and run if the need arose. His face was etched with pain and betrayal.  
“So you’re just going to leave, you bastard?” The genius’ voice was raw, filled with emotion, as though he couldn’t just pick one.  
“No.” The word strangled its way out of Steve’s throat, and he meant it, he just couldn’t step back out of the elevator again. “I can’t. I tried, I thought it was best, but I can’t.”  
Something relaxed ever so slightly in Tony’s face, his shoulders dropping. “It’s you. You’re what’s missing, aren’t you?”  
“JARVIS…?”  
“Showed me some surveillance footage, of us, and photos. Your sketchbook, it’s full of me.” Pain flashed across Tony’s face, his hands coming up to rake through his hair. “I could see the way we looked at each other.”  
Steve still couldn’t move, he could only watch as the man he loved slowly pieced bits back together. He’d watched this so many times before; and he knew, despite where he stood, he’d watch it over and over again until it finally stuck. He would wait for that day, even if it never came.  
Tony was suddenly pointing at him, eyes focused. “There, see, you still look at me like that.” Then he pulled his hand back to rub furiously over his eyes and into his hair again. “I keep forgetting to look back at you like that. It’s there, in my mind, right from when I woke up, this blank spot that I know is important and I can’t fill it. But it’s you, you’re what I can’t remember. There were sparks, this morning, at breakfast, telling me you were important. I didn’t know why.”  
The younger man finally found his voice. “Do you know why now?”  
Tony took a small shuffling step towards him, hands fisting around his hair. He looked apprehensive, as though what he was about to say was a big gamble. “You love me, don’t you?”  
His heart was thumping against his chest again, the words rolled through him. Hearing that question never gets easier. Steve could only nod.  
Another step forward. “And I love you.” Tony scrunched his eyes closed, thumping the heels of his hands against his temples, voice shifted from unsure to frustrated in a moment. “Why can’t I remember that? It’s fucked up, Steve, because now I just know it. Something clicked and it feels right to say that. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry I’m broken, and I don’t know how to fix it. I always know how to fix things!”  
It was too much, Steve couldn’t handle it anymore. He dropped his bag, abandoning it and the sketchbook in the elevator. He crossed the space between himself and the older man and took Tony’s hands in his own, pulling them away from the insistent beating against his head.  
“I’m not leaving. I love you Tony.”  
Brown eyes opened to stare at him; he watched as the pain and uncertainly started to creep away. His Tony was coming back to him, as he had so many times before.  
“Why do you do this to yourself? It isn’t the first time, is it Steve? It’s been three months, that’s what Bruce told me. I get the feeling that you have done this every day, or tried to. To get me to remember you.”  
The question caught him off guard, it was the first time that Tony had actually brought that up. He was being too analytical; for a moment the super soldier was terrified that he was going to lose Tony for the day, if the genius started to second guess it all.  
“Because, you’re worth waiting for. I love you, and spending even a few hours a day with you remembering that makes this bearable.” He wasn’t sure if his words were doing any good or not, but then Tony slowly nodded, his hands pulled away from Steve’s only to latch onto the front of his shirt.  
He wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist, holding him close and just breathing him in. He had his Tony back, and even if it was only for a moment, it was worth it. Tony was pulling himself closer, one arm shifted to hook behind Steve’s neck, lips crushed against lips, desperate, pleading and relieved all at once.  
Tony pulled back a fraction, breathing hard, but the uncertainty was gone and his eyes were alive. “Make me remember.” 

 

11:58 pm

They lay together, a tangle of limbs and sweat dampened sheets that had long since cooled. It was the same as all good nights; in Tony’s bed, together, bathed in post coital glow, watching movies late into the night. Always movies that Tony remembered having seen before, mostly because it meant they didn’t have to concentrate and could just spend the time together.  
Steve lay there, the movie forgotten, with Tony leaning over him, hands tracing lines over his skin, discovering the younger man’s body anew every time.  
“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Tony mumbled against Steve’s collarbone, teeth nipping at skin. “I don’t want to forget this.”  
Steve let out a soft sigh, pulling Tony into a kiss, trying his best to force away the feeling of resentment. He resented the accident, not Tony, he’d never resent Tony. “I’ll always remind you.” It was a promise that he intended to keep until it was no longer necessary.  
The older man dropped back down to mattress beside him, curling against his side, head resting on Steve’s broad chest. Fingers skittered across his skin, making him shudder slightly. He wrapped an arm tightly around Tony’s shoulders, pressed a kiss to dark dishevelled hair and just tried to enjoy the moment. It would be taken away from him all too soon. He had his Tony though, for a night, and he’d settle for that any day over not having Tony at all.  
“I’ll stay with you, as close, or as far away as you need me to be, every day, and remind you of what you’ve forgotten. I’m not going to lose you.” He whispered the words against Tony’s hair, free hand catching the hand that rested on his chest. “You’re stuck with me as long as you want me.”  
There was a hitch in Tony’s voice as he replied. “Always, my dear, always. Even if I forget that. You just make sure to remember that for me.”  
They were silent for a long moment, neither of them particularly paying attention to the movie. Steve could feel the pull of sleep, but he didn’t want to give into it while Tony was still awake.  
“I might remember, tomorrow.” Tony didn’t sound nearly as hopeful as the words alluded. “It could be different, I could get better. You could stay until I wake up, and I might remember.”  
The guilt and sadness felt like a barb in Steve’s heart, for a long time he could only hold Tony tightly to him. “I can’t stay. We’ve tried that before, it stresses you out. I don’t want to waste a day with you.”  
“Fuck’s sake, Steve, what have I been putting you through all this time?” Tony jerked away from him, sat up and stared down at him, searching for something.  
“Nothing that I can’t handle.” Steve reassured him, reaching up and brushing the back of his knuckles over Tony’s cheek. “These moments, they make it all worth it. I’ll wait for you, over and over.”  
Tony leant into the touch, eyes closed. “I made notes, before, about you, so I can remember. It seems odd that there weren’t any about this morning. Was it a bad day yesterday? Did I not remember anything?”  
It’s hard to tell the truth, especially in such a perfect moment, when he could just pretend that everything was back to normal. Steve never thought that he was a selfish person, but he had come to realise that when it came to Tony, he was extremely selfish. If he could have Tony remember what they were, from shortly after he woke up, he would have made it so every day.  
But it didn’t work that way; they’d learnt early on that loading Tony with information, especially personal information, each day didn’t work. Even if Tony tried to remind himself, things would just go wrong. Tactical information, mission reports and technical notes were okay, but anything with an emotional attachment seemed to overload Tony. So, with JARVIS’ help, they’d all developed a system, to remove all the notes until Tony was ready for the information. When he actively asked for the information, he tended to handle it a lot better. They’d had three months to figure out a system that worked the best, no matter how much it hurt.  
“It’s tricky, Tony, some things just have to be the way they are.” It explained everything, and absolutely nothing all at once.  
Tony shifted against him, probably an attempt at a shrug. “I’ll try to remember. I will remember tomorrow. That’s a promise.”  
Steve had heard that promise before, but he didn’t say that, some things were better off left unsaid. He would wait forever for that promise to be fulfilled, but sometimes, things just weren’t meant to be mended. He prayed to god, that this was something that’d be fixed. 

 

3:59 am

Steve untangled himself from Tony’s sleeping form, slipping out of bed. He leant down to press a kiss to the older man’s forehead, brushing the backs of his knuckles over his cheek, causing Tony to mumble something incoherent in his sleep. Carefully, he gathered up his clothes from where they’d fallen the night before.  
For a change, he didn’t leave straight away, but took a moment watch the man he loved as he slept, reaffirming to himself that he’d do anything for Tony Stark, just for a chance of another moment with him.  
He turned away, heading back to his own room again, clothes hugged to his chest. “JARVIS, you know what to do.”  
It started again, another day, another chance. But maybe, just maybe, it’d be different that day; and if not that day, the perhaps the next.  
He had to let himself hope.


End file.
